The Uneventful life of Neal Caffrey
by cartoon-crazy987
Summary: Neal is temporarily assigned to a new case, and a new handler. Only problem is, the new handler seems to hate Neal's guts.
1. Chapter 1

**Welcome to my white collar Fanfic. If you have anything you want to see happen, tell me now or suffer through the wrath know as my imagination as it goes WILD on this story. **

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Neal doodled mindlessly on a piece of paper while the two FBI agents in front of him bickered endlessly. Seriously, the two had been going at it for a good twenty minutes. And Neal was getting sick of it. Mostly because _he_ was the object of their argument.

"He doesn't have a choice in the matter! He's property of the Burough_*_ and as such he has to do as I say!"

"This is suicide and you know it! Wilkins is an extremely dangerous man and he knows Neal! There's no way you-"

"Neal belongs to me on this one. There's nothing you can do about it."

"Your going to get him killed!"

"That's a chance I'm willing to take. He belongs to me; you can have him back when I'm finished with him." Tired of the arguing Neal tossed his penciled onto the table and stood up, leaning forward he placed both hands on the table and addressed the two people in the room.

"Don't I get a say in this?" He asked looking at Peter. Peter shot him a look that said, '_stay out of it,'_ but Neal, being Neal, ignored the warning. "Besides, Peters right. Wilkins knows me. He will defiantly recognize me if you make me go threw with this." The other man in the room, agent Jordan glared at Neal, his face turning slightly red. Stalking forward he pointed his finger at Neal menacingly. Neal lifted up his hands defensively, slightly shocked at the mans reaction.

"You. Do not get to talk. You do not get an opinion. You get to stay quiet and do as I tell you. You are nothing more then a dog awaiting MY orders. Do I make my self CLEAR?" The man snarled poking Neal in the chest with his finger. Neal glanced over a Peter, not really sure how to handle the situation. Peter looked just as shocked at Neal.

"You can't treat him like a dog, Jordan" Peter spat, jumping to his partner's aide. "He may be a criminal but-"Jordan cut Peter off.

"Exactly. He's a criminal. And that's all he will ever be." Shoving Neal with enough force to send the man into the wall, Jordan turned his attention back onto Peter. "Don't try and stop me Burke. Hughe's has already given me the OK to be Caffrey's handler on this one." Without waiting for a response, the man stormed out of the office, slamming the door behind him and making the glass walls rattle as if they were about to shatter. Sliding down the wall he was now leaning on, Neal sat on the floor and ran a hand threw his hair.

"Are you okay?" Peter asked looking over at his partner. Neal blew out a puff of air and looked up at Peter, worry clear on his face.

"That guy is going to get me killed."

"I know." Peter said, glancing at the door the man had left through.

"He doesn't _care_ if he gets me killed." Neal added. Peter didn't say anything for a few seconds.

"I know." He admitted. Neal pushed himself up off the floor, dusting off his bottom he walked over to the table and reclaimed the seat he had been previously occupying.

"I really don't want to work with that guy." Neal continued, picking up his pencil he continued drawing. Peter silently watched Neal doodle, his mind on other things. He furrowed his brow suddenly, as if a thought had just occurred to him.

"What are you drawing on?" he asked stepping forward to get a better look. Neal glanced up at him like he was stupid.

"Um, paper?" He said gesturing to the piece of paper with his hand.

"Where did you _get_ it?" Peter clarified in exasperation. When Neal didn't answer, Peter reached over and grabbed the paper electing an indignant, _'hey!'_ from the artistic young con man. Flipping the paper over Peter scrutinized its front. His mouth dropped open in shock.

"This is an arrest warrant!" Peter exclaimed flipping the paper over to look at what Neil had been drawing. It was a very lovely picture of Kate at a fair of some sort. The girl was holding a huge stuffed animal and was staring up at something in the sky. Flipping the paper back over, Peter looked at the contents of the warrant once again. "And its Jordan's…" He mumbled looking up at Neal. The con man shrugged innocently.

"It is? I just thought it was a normal piece of paper."

"You took it when he tossed his files onto the desk, didn't you." Peter asked a small smile touching his features. Neil shrugged.

"It must have slipped out of his folders." Peter gave him a pointed look.

"All right, _fine_. So I took it when you two were arguing. But I _was _going to give it back." Neal confessed tapping the end of the pencil on the table.

"Until?" Peter asked putting the arrest warrant on the table.

"Until he called me a dog and pushed me into the wall." Neal stated matter of factly. Peter's eyes rolled skyward.

"You are unbelievable." Neil smiled brightly at Peter. The smile disappeared as soon as it had appeared.

"I just wanted to see who he was planning on arresting for the Wilkins case. What's that guy's problem with me anyway?" The con man asked taking his drawing back from Peter.

"Other then the fact that you're a criminal and he's a cop?" Peter asked. Neal glared half heartedly at Peter and went back to drawing his picture of Kate. Peter sighed tiredly.

"Jordan's been on your case almost as long as I have." The FBI agent admitted. Neal looked up, his interest officially piqued.

"I've never heard of him." Neal pointed out. Peter nodded.

"Do you remember when you stole those four paintings? The ones that belonged in the same set, or something?" Peter asked.

"Nope." Neal responded immediately. Peter rolled his eyes again.

"Right, Well Jordan was working on that case with me. Jordan believed that you were going to take a boat, and run with the three paintings that you already had in your possession. I, on the other hand, knew that was only a smoke screen that you had set up. I told him to put all of his men on the fourth painting. He, _of course,_ didn't listen to me and sent all of his men to the harbor to catch you. And you weren't there. When he realized he had been tricked, he took all of his men to the fourth painting, only to find it had already been stolen." Peter explained watching Neal's reaction to the story. Neal smiled widely once again.

"Ohhh, that explains so much!" The con man laughed his pencil making quick little strokes on the paper. Peter fixed Neal with an unhappy look.

"After the fourth painting had been stolen, Jordan was transferred to a lower position in a different department, and I was put on your case, full time."

"Why such a harsh punishment?" Neal asked, looking away from his picture, his eyes twinkling with amusement. Peter, noticing the look was reminded that this was Neal he was speaking too. Not Neal his friend or FBI agent, but Neal the world renowned art thief and forger. Sometimes Peter forgot that little tidbit of information about his friend and partner.

"Because, you stole those paintings from a very important, wealthy government official! Someone needed to be punished for the loss of his most prized possessions."

"So Jordan became a scapegoat." Neal mumbled, understanding.

"Exactly. Which is why I don't want you to be working with him." Peter said. Before Neil could respond, Jordan stormed back into the office. His face bright red. Pointing an accusatory finger at Neal he stormed over the con man. Neal jumped up and held his hands in front of him defensively.

"Where is it?" Jordan snapped. His glare could have wilted plants. Neal glanced down at the table; Jordan followed his eyes and spotted the piece of paper.

"You little shit." Jordan hissed grabbing his arrest warrant. Sending Neal a heated glare once more, Jordan stalked off to the door. Reaching it he yanked it open with more force then was necessary, but instead of leavening he turned to face Neal.

"You stay here. The rest of my team will be here soon and when I get back we can begin the briefing. Am I clear?" Jordan's voice grew louder and louder until he was practically yelling by the end of his sentence.

"Crystal." Neal responded, shoving his hands into his pockets unhappily.

Jordan grumbled something that sounded suspiciously like, _'arrogant little bastard'_ before he walked out the door, slamming it harshly behind him. Once again the glass wall's rattled ominously. The room was filled with silence at its two occupants digested what had just happened.

"I really don't want to work with him." Neal finally muttered.

"I know." Peter added unhelpfully.

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_*I couldnt figure out how to spell that stupid word. I hope I got it write. Please correct me if im wrong._

**Seriously im not gunna let anything stop me when I write this. Things that would **_**really**_**happen wont matter, FBI protocol, people that seem crazier then they should be, and deep twisted unbelivible plots. The only thing I will remain true to is the characters. I will try and keep them all IC as much as I can.**

**Other then that, just disregard reality.**


	2. Forgetting something?

**This I for all of you beautiful reviewers. I cant believe how many of you responded to that first chapter.**

**Okay most of you probably just wanted to inform me that I misspelled burouh, but ehh. I take my happiness where I can find it. **

**Oh right a disclaimer: I do not own white Collar or Peter or Neal. Though I wish I did. Who wouldnt want to own him? Oh but I do own Jordan. Not that it matters. You can have him if you want. Seriously. Im not claiming that guy. He's a jerk.**

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"Wilkins stole a rare Japanese painting from the 1800's. He broke into the home of Momo Aoki, got past the pressure sensitive plates, dogs, eye scanners and even the voice activated door system. It's obvious that this crime was executed after a lot of planning and thought. Wilkins is probably going to try and sell the painting as soon as possible and he probably executed the crime himself so we need-" Neal raised his hand cutting off Jordan.

"I think it was an inside job."

"I don't care what you think convict." Jordan snapped, not even looking at Neal.

"And I don't think Wilkins did the actual stealing himself." Neal added putting his hand down. Jordan sighed irritably and looked over at Neal, the angry glare set firmly on his face.

"And what makes you think that, _convict._" He asked peevishly. Neal kept his face impassive. Peter had warned him not to cross Jordan. Jordan had enough friends in high places to get Neal sent back to prison for a really long time. Although Neal would have loved to make life a little more difficult for his new temporary handler, he trusted Peter. And if Peter warned him not to cross Jordan, then he wouldn't. Neal sighed inwardly, he still wasn't used to the fact that the only person he knew he could trust was a fed. The fed that had caught him and put him in jail no less. Remembering that Jordan was more then likely waiting for a response Neal smiled tightly.

"Because, I worked with Wilkins for a while. He's not the type of person that does his own dirty work. He usually sends someone else to do it for him." the con man explained. Jordan regarded Neal suspiciously. As if he was trying to decide if what Neal had just admitted could get him thrown back in jail. When he decided that it couldn't, he responded, his voice as gruff and angry as always.

"What else do you know about Wilkins?"

"Not much." Neal responded with a shrug, trying to keep the mood light. At least he wasn't getting screamed at or treated like a dog. At the moment anyway. Pushing those thoughts aside Neal tied to be at least a little helpful. Maybe he could get on Jordan's good side.

"Well, He probably hired someone to steal it and used blackmail to get someone on the inside to help him with all of the high tech personal security things, like the voice and eye scanners." Neal explained, remembering the way Wilkins had done things when they had worked together for a vary short period of time. Emphasis on very short. Wilkins had been violent and had gotten angry at the smallest instigation. He was not a safe person to be around.

"How sure are you about that?" Jordan asked, his hands on his hips. He looked like a mother getting ready to scold her child for stealing the last cookie out of the cookie jar.

"Pretty sure. Almost positive actually." Neal answered bluntly.

"What do you think he's going to do with the painting now?" Jordan asked. A weird emotion flashed across the FBI agents face, it was gone before Neal could identify it. All he knew what that it made him nervous.

"I couldn't really tell you that. Theres a lot of things that he could do with it, now that he has it." Neal hid his nervous emotions expertly, in the way that only a con man can.

"What would you do with it?" Jordan asked, once again the strange emotion flashed across his face.

"I would probably make a forgery of the original, and then try to pass off the fake as the original."

"Why?" Jordan snapped not understanding the complicated ways of art thieves.

"A lot of reasons. If someone bought the fake then I would have made a small fortune, and because anyone really interested in the painting would know right away that it was a fraud. The feds just want to catch me selling illegal paintings." Neal explained.

"So, in other words, if the buyer just _buys_ the painting without looking at it, or calling it for being fake, then you know he's not really after the painting, but after you?" One of the various agents in the room asked. Neal nodded and turned to look at the agent in question. She was female and had the greenest eyes Neal had ever seen. They sparkled like emeralds. She had dark skin and long black hair that brushed her shoulders. Neal smiled at the women, the thief in him spotted the wallet on the inside of her coat jacket and the loose diamond ring barely clinging to her finger. There was a kindness in her eyes as well, a kind of naive gullibility that would make it easy for Neal to scam almost anything out of her. Pushing away the thoughts Neal smiled brightly at the girl.

"Right you are." he said, pleased that the women wasn't glaring at him, or calling him a convict and a dog. He was really getting sick of Jordan.

"It seems a little..." The women paused, searching for the right word.

"Elaborate?" Neal supplied helpfully. The women nodded her head.

"Yeah, like you don't trust anyone ever. Even people you know." She shrugged her shoulders. Unable to come up with a better explanation, she returned her attention to Jordan.

"How can we tell if the painting is real or not?" Jordan asked, noticing the focus in the room switch back to him. Neal thought for a second.

"I suppose you would have to be able to tell whether or not the paint was authentic Japanese paint from the 1800's."

"And how do we do that?" Jordan asked.

"The paint should have small metallic specks in it. If its real the metal will be copper. If its fake it will be gold. Not only that but the black paint used on it will have a sort of bluish purple tint. The shading has to be exact too, since the painting was done at night by candle light some of the shade-" Jordan raised a hand to cut Neal off. Neal raised an eyebrow at the man. "What?" He asked suspiciously.

"Not a single person here knows how to do that." Jordan said, smiling wide. Neal cringed at the man's unpleasant smile. It looked like he was getting ready to devour a baby.

"So.." Neal mumbled looking around the room nervously.

"So, convict. _you're_ the expert on this. You're going to have to go under cover and buy the painting from Wilkins." Jordan explained, his horrible baby eating smile growing wider.

"You were serious about that? Wilkins _knows_ me! He _knows_ I work for the FBI. He'll kill me the second he sees me! And you'll lose your chance at catching him!"

"Well then what do you purpose we do?" Jordan asked that creepy smile, never leaving his face.

"I think you should send someone else in. Just have them say its fake and he'll give them the real painting!" Neal snapped. This man couldn't really be _that _incompetent could he? There were a bunch of different ways to go about this.

"Well, its a good thing your not allowed to think then. Isn't it?" Jordan sneered the smile dropping off his face abruptly. Neal glared at him. "Besides, the rest of my people, are people. They work for the burorh because that's their job. Their what I like to call, 'employees'. You, are not an employee. Your a tool. A dog, awaiting my orders. Your expendable." Jordan said, explaining it as if Neal was a small child.

"This is-"

"You said it yourself, Wilkins likes to use other people to do his dirty work. He probably wont even be there." Jordan smiled happily. "So get ready, because your going undercover, _convict_." Jordan started to head for the door, the rest of the people in the room stood up to following his lead. The briefing was over, and Neal suspected that Jordan had known what the outcome of the meeting was going to be, before it had even started. Before Jordan reached the door Neal called out.

"Hey!" Jordan turned around to look at the com man. "Aren't you forgetting something?" Neal asked lifting up his left hand as far as it would go, which wasn't very far, since he was handcuffed to the table. _'Just a precaution'_ Jordan had said before the meeting had started. Locking Neal in place. Jordan smiled,

"I'm sure you can figure a way out of them." He laughed, and walked out of the room. The women with the kind, easily conned green eyes looked back at Neal.

"Should I go get Peter?" She asked, as the last person left the room. Neal leaned back in his seat and closed his eyes tiredly.

"Peter or a bobby pin. Either one will do." He responded quietly. The women nodded.

"I'll just go get Peter then." With that she walked out of the room.

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**Man, whose boooard with all the talking? I AM TOO! Lets hope I put some action in the next chapter. Im really feelin the need to see some action. yo.**

**The next chapter will be up soon. I hope. I may be getting a job, so I dont know. But there will be whump. I love whump...what kind of whump do you guys like anyway?**

**Oh gosh im so nervous, I hope I spelled all the throughs correctly...gulp...**


	3. Like the Joker, from the Dark Knight!

**Ooookay, So I have no excuse for the epiclly long wait I forced upon you, my loyal readers...Well Actually I do, but its not important. This chapter is sorta filler, I just poseted it to let you guys all know im alive. and after I post this, I'll start on a new chappie right away. So donnnt even worry about it...**

**Disclaimer blah blah...**

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Peter slammed the door on the driver's side and slid the key into the ignition. He waited patiently for his partner to enter the car before he let loose.

"I can't believe he handcuffed you to the table." The FBI agent snapped, violently shifting the car into reverse. Neal shrugged,

"I think you're missing the big picture here Peter." the con man said irritably.

"And what would the big picture be, Neal?" Peter asked. Neal rolled his eyes and rubbed his left wrist, he hated wearing handcuffs. It was too reminiscent of prison.

"Jordan wants me to go and buy a Painting from Wilkins!"

"He said you wouldn't be actually buying it _from_ Wilkins. He said you would be buying it from one of Wilkins men." Peter pointed out, turning around in his seat and backing out of the parking lot. Neal sighed loudly and glared at Peter.

"Wilkins won't be far away." The con man grumbled crossing his arms over his chest and sulking, much like a scolded teenager would.

"You're the one that said that Wilkins doesn't do his own dirty work." Peter added turning onto the busy streets of New York.

"Selling your own forgery isn't dirty work." Neal said looking out the rain spattered window. It had been raining all day. Peter looked over at his sulking partner.

"Are you really worried about this?" The FBI agent asked, a light smirk touching his features.

"Are you trying to get me killed?" Neal snapped in retribution. Peter rolled his eyes and swiveled around a parked car. Neal, used to Peters dangerous driving, didn't even blink.

"Stop being such a baby. And stop sulking. You're not going to get killed. There will be a full team of FBI agents sitting, not even ten feet away from you if you should need them. Besides all you need to do is see the painting, the real one, and then you'll be done. You've done this kind of thing before." Peter sped through the intersection just as the light switched to red. The car was silent for a few seconds.

"Who was that arrest warrant for?" Neal finally asked, as the car made a beeping noise and automaically slammed on the breaks when Peter got to close to the back end of a car.

"It was for one of Wilkins known associates. Dustin Gubbard." Peter explained. Neal thought for a few moments.

"When is he going to be brought in for questioning?" The con man wondered, curious about this Gubbard guy. Peter shrugged.

"He's not. Jordan dropped the charges and the warrant."

"Why?" Neal asked.

"I was told it was because of alternate evidence." Peter slammed on the breaks as someone ran out in front of him.

"Where did you hear that?" Neal asked, watching the person walk across the street.

"From some of my team. They were going to try and find out more, but it's not our case. So it's not really our business." Peter explained speeding around a man on a bicycle.

Neal grabbed the handle on the cars roof as a car from a different lane came close to hitting their own car.

"Are you trying to get us killed!" Neal gasped looking over at Peter.

"Not us. Just you apparently." Peter responded smoothly, switching lanes. Neal made a face.

"Ha. Ha. You're hilarious." He grumbled, relaxing a little.

"I thought you were supposed to be the world's best con man. You should be able to con Wilkins out of his painting easily." Peter said, pulling into a gas station. Neal snorted.

"What are we doing here?" he asked as they pulled into a parking space. Peter shut off the car and removed the key from the ignition.

"El asked me to get some milk. And you're waiting in the car." Peter explained pushing open his door.

"Wait! Peter!" Neal called out opening his own door. Peter's turned around and looked down at Neal.

"I said stay in the car. Do I need to get out my handcuffs?" Peter asked reaching into his back pockets. Neal glared at the older man.

"You're a comedian, you know that? A real comedian." He mumbled closing his door.

**LINE BREAK**

"I'm still not too sure about this." Neal grumbled as one of Jordan's men unlocked his tracking anklet. Despite all of the joking the previous night, it was obvious that both him and Peter were nervous about the meeting with Wilkins's man going awry. The only thing that gave Neal any relief was that Peter had managed to muscle his way into the operation and was now sitting at the back of the truck watching over him protectively. Neal couldn't help but smile at Peter, he was like an over protective dad at times.

"Well I am." Jordan snapped. He was a big man, very muscular and his huge frame took up a lot of space in the crowded and cramped truck. He seemed to be claustrophobic too, because his mood was, if it were possible, even worse than it had been the previous day. Neal clamped down on the urge to ask Jordan why he was such an incompetent idiot and instead asked the FBI agent,

"So, what time am I supposed to meet with Wilkins's guy?

"In about five minutes." Jordan responded, somehow he managed to make the answer seem like an insult. Neal made a face and backed away when Jordan suddenly turned and approached him. Jordan stopped and stood about five inches in front of Neal, completely invading his personal space, and held up the fancy golden GPS tracking pen that Neal normally used when undercover. He shoved the pen into Neal's front jacket pocket and then sneered like he was in pain.

"Don't lose that." He ground out through clenched teeth. Suddenly Neal didn't know if the man was smiling or hissing at him, deciding it didn't matter the con man voiced his opposition to this undercover mission one more time.

"This is a bad idea."

"I think it's a great idea." Jordan responded his smile/hissing face changing back into its usual scowl.

"That's because I'm probably going to end up dead." Neal mumbled looking up into Jordan's face. Jordan was a good foot taller than him, and he had dark brown eyes, that sort of looked like caramel. Neal suspected the FBI agent had been a decent man at some point in his life.

"You're probably right about that." Jordan responded, almost cheerfully, Patting Neal's face twice. Jordan turned to face his crew and give them final details. While he was doing that, Peter stood up.

"Don't worry, were going to be right here. Just say '_I'm no longer interested in the painting._' if you want to abort the mission." Peter said, reminding Neal of the code words and handing him the suitcase full of traceable bills especially for this mission. Neal just nodded his head solemnly and before he could change his mind, he pushed open the cold metal door and stepped out into the dreary afternoon weather, the wind blowing coldly against his skin and raising goose bumps on his arms. Pulling up his collar Neal scanned the area to look for whoever it was he was supposed to be meeting. He had been told that the man had black hair and a long scar somewhere on his face. He hadn't been told were. Even with the small amount of information he had been given on the man's appearance Jordan had seemed confident that Neal would be able to pick out the mysterious person. The hope that he wouldn't be able to locate the man was squashed when he saw a tall man in a trench coat huddled next to a fire hydrant. A long scare ran from his left ear all the way down across his mouth, and to the right ear. The scar reminded Neal eerily of The Joker from the 'Dark Knight'.

"Hey." Neal greeted the man, walking over to him quickly. The man lifted his head lethargically, his dark eyes locking onto Neal's approaching figure. The man shifted uncomfortably under his huge black coat and shoved his hands into his pockets.

"What do yuh want kid. I aint got time to play."

"I was just wondering if you knew where I could find some good art for sale." Neal responded, ignoring the fact that this guy had just called him a kid. The man shuffled his feat uncomfortably. He looked Neal up and down again and then cleared his throat.

"Yeah follow me." The man relented, his lips and scars twitching with every spoken syllable. Neal obliged, pulling his coat tighter around his body. It was abnormally cold for the time of the year. The man led him into a cold dank warehouse filled with boxes and cobwebs. The florescent lights on the roof buzzed and whined loudly. The concrete floor was cracked and stained with what Neal could only hope was oil of some kind, and there was a large mahogany table at the end of the room with a painting sitting haphazardly on top of it. Next to the table was a small door that looked like it was about to crumble. Finished examining the room, Neal put all his attention on the large table in front of him.

"Is that the painting?" He asked walking up to the table briskly. The man nodded brusquely.

"Do you have the money?" He asked walking up to Neal's side. Neal nodded and tossed the suitcase he was holding at the man. The guy caught it and flung it on the table to examine its contents. While he was doing that, Neal bent down to get a closer look at the painting. It was extremely easy to tell that the thing was a forgery. Almost _too_ easy. As if the painting had been thrown together at the last minute and it didn't even matter if it was identified as a fake. An uneasy feeling formed in the pit of Neal's stomach. But he continued on with the plan, desperate to see the real painting and get out of the dangerous situation he had been thrown into.

"This isn't the real painting." Neal stated straightening up and looking over at the man who looked like the Joker. The man looked away from all of the money in the suitcase and glared at Neal, the scars on his face arching downward.

"No shit Sherlock." He grumbled placing the money back into the suitcase and slamming the lid shut violently.

"So where's the real one?" Neal asked arching an eyebrow. He was seriously considering just saying the code words and abandoning the mission. The man's frown deepened.

"Behind you." He grumbled his dark eyes looking at something over Neal's shoulder. Neal turned around and felt all the color drain from his face.

"Hello Caffery." the new arrival greeted, shutting the crumbling door next to the mahogany table. Neal took a step backwards only to run into someone's body. The man with the scars grunted and wrapped his hands around Neal's forearms.

"Wilkins." Neal breathed airily, hoping that the one word would bring the cavalry running. Wilkins smiled and shook his head.

"Ah ah, there's no time to talk. We have a lot to get done." Wilkins smiled, showing off his pearly whites.

"Like wha-" Before Neal could finish his sentence a thousand volts of electricity coursed through his body and sent the con man crashing to the ground and into a dark pool of unconscious oblivion.

**WCWCWCWCWCWC**

"_Is t__his the painting?"_ Neal's voice could be heard threw the various headsets the people in the van were wearing. Peter strained his hearing to try and catch the response, but it was no use. The only people that had heard his response were the agents in the van. And none of them were willing to tell Peter what was going on. Not being able to listen in on the conversation was really fraying Peter's nerves. He had been given permission to go along on the undercover mission but that's all he had been given permission to do. As soon as he was in the truck Jordan had ordered him to sit in the corner and shut up. The silence seemed to stretch on for forever and just as Peter was about to jump up and call the hole mission off; he heard Neal's voice again, calming his frayed nerves.

"This isn't the real painting." Neal said. His voice sounded somber, like he had realized something that wasn't just about the painting. The normal confidant tone was gone, instead replaced with something akin to nervousness. Peter seemed to be the only one to notice Neal's tone. Probably because he had known the con man for so much longer than anyone else in the van. The silence was punctured once again with Neal's uncharacteristically nervous voice.

"So where's the real one?" the con man asked. There was no response, that Peter could hear anyway, and the FBI agent was starting to get really irritated with only being able to hear one side of the conversation. He was about to demand a headset of his own when a loud voice that did not belong to Neal suddenly boomed over the speakers.

"Hello Caffery." and then everything was happening too quickly.

"We need to get in there!" Peter suddenly yelled jumping up when he heard his friend mutter the name, _'Wilkins'_. Jordan glared at Peter.

"Sit down! Or you'll blow the whole operation."

"Sit down!" Peter snapped incredulous. "We-" A loud gasp crackled threw the headsets followed by a sharp snap and a burst of static as the pen was either turned off or destroyed. The van was silent for a few tense seconds before a woman with green eyes and dark skinned jumped up. Seeing one of his own react, Jordan stood up as well.

"All right! Go! Go!" He yelled. Peter was the first one out of the van and the first one to reach the warehouse. He kicked open the door with enough force to splinter the wood and leave his foot numb. It was defiantly going to be sore the next day. With the blood pounding in his ears, Peter swept his gun around the warehouse as he searched for any sign of movement. There was none. The warehouse was empty.

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**Dun duun duuun! Next chapter comeing youre way soon! As soon as I figure out how to adequately torture Neal of course...oh ummm...did I just say that? heheheh...**


End file.
